My pensive Sara! thy soft cheek reclinedThus on mine arm, most soothing sweet it isTo sit beside our Cot, our Cot o'ergrownWith white-flower'd Jasmin, and the broad-leav'd Myrtle,(Meet emblems they of Innocence and Love!)And watch the clouds, that late were rich with light.Slow saddening round, and mark the star of eveSerenely brilliant (such should Wisdom be)Shine opposite! How exquisite the scentsSnatch'd from yon bean-field! and the world so hush'd!The stilly murmur of the distant SeaTells us of silence.

And that simplest Lute,Placed length-ways in the clasping casement, hark!How by the desultory breeze caress'd,Like some coy maid half yielding to her lover,It pours such sweet upbraiding, as must needsTempt to repeat the wrong! And now, its stringsBoldlier swept, the long sequacious notesOver delicious surges sink and rise,Such a soft floating witchery of soundAs twilight Elfins make, when they at eveVoyage on gentle gales from Fairy-Land,Where Melodies round honey-dropping flowers,Footless and wild, like birds of Paradise,Nor pause, nor perch, hovering on untam'd wing!O! the one Life within us and abroad,Which meets all motion and becomes its soul,A light in sound, a sound-like power in light,Rhythm in all thought, and joyance every where—Methinks, it should have been impossibleNot to love all things in a world so fill'd;Where the breeze warbles, and the mute still airIs Music slumbering on her instrument.

And thus, my Love! as on the midway slopeOf yonder hill I stretch my limbs at noon,Whilst through my half-closed eye-lids I beholdThe sunbeams dance, like diamonds, on the main,And tranquil muse upon tranquillity;Full many a thought uncall'd and undetain'd,And many idle flitting phantasies,Traverse my indolent and passive brain,As wild and various as the random galesThat swell and flutter on this subject Lute!

And what if all of animated natureBe but organic Harps diversely fram'd,That tremble into thought, as o'er them sweepsPlastic and vast, one intellectual breeze,At once the Soul of each, and God of all?

But thy more serious eye a mild reproofDarts, O belovéd Woman! nor such thoughtsDim and unhallow'd dost thou not reject,And biddest me walk humbly with my God.Meek Daughter in the family of Christ!Well hast thou said and holily disprais'dThese shapings of the unregenerate mind;Bubbles that glitter as they rise and breakOn vain Philosophy's aye-babbling spring.For never guiltless may I speak of him,The Incomprehensible! save when with aweI praise him, and with Faith that inly feels;Who with his saving mercies healéd me,A sinful and most miserable man,Wilder'd and dark, and gave me to possessPeace, and this Cot, and thee, heart-honour'd Maid!